Tommy Jituboh - Once I Was Lost: Tommy Jituboh - My Story

Once I Was Lost

My Story: Tommy Jituboh

Written by Jeff Jones

Copyright 2020 by Tommy Jituboh

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any form of retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior permission in writing from the publishers except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

I would like to thank Tommy for the trust and belief he had in me by giving me exclusive access into his life, and disclosing some very personal information to enable me to write this enlightening book. There were occasions when I suggested to Tommy that it wasnt necessary to mention things of a personal nature that were unrelated to himself in the book. However, Tommy insisted that he wanted everybody to hear the whole truth as the book is not about his perfection but his direction.

Growing up in the East End, like everyone else I knew the name Tommy Jituboh, who was regarded as a top-ranking villain who wasnt to be messed with. I first met Tommy in 1980 as a 19-year-old while playing football with Berner F.C as an up and coming centre forward. Berner F.C was a young all-black team during a time when there were very few non-blacks in the East End. Match days would attract the racist organisation, the National Front, who shouted racial hatred around the touchline. Their aim was to intimidate us hoping our team would fold, as they felt threatened by our potential and being the only all-black side in the East End. Miraculously, when Tommy joined our team, becoming my striking partner as an experienced 30-year-old, the racism ceased and our young players excelled with confidence, and many went on to play semi-professionally.

The side of Tommy I saw was that of a generous, fearless gentleman who brought people together and broke down racial barriers, becoming a pioneer for Berner F.C and the black community. Tommy led by example, and for the first time gave me a perspective on what true equality feels like, which we achieved while in his company and on the football pitch through the respect shown to us by all races and cultures. This stayed with me throughout my journey. Tommy was one of those characters who everyone in the East End had heard of, with many claiming to know him. However, I had the privilege of being his striking partner and Ive never since scored as many goals in a season.

Forty years on, after a career as a manager in mental health, youth work and in education, when I was asked by Tommy to write his autobiography, I was more than happy to oblige as it was a story I felt needed to be heard and which I thoroughly enjoyed writing. What makes this book so intriguing is the honesty that becomes the strength and the social history which reflects the times throughout the journey.

Jeff Jones

Id like to take this time to give honour to people who have impacted on my life when I became a born-again Christian, as they played a significant part in my journey.

First of all, I would honour my mum and dad who stuck together through thick and thin while bringing up nine children during very deprived times and when racism was blatantly rife. My parents instilled in us the notion of treating people with respect and love. I loved them both very much and I thank God that they were able to see that they got their son back before they died.

Pastor Sonny Senior and Julie Arguinzoni both inspired in me a life change and really influenced me as it was never ever possible for a drug addict to change his life. Sonny was the first person I knew of, so I am grateful to this man and woman of God.

Secondly, to the man, whose name is Art, who spoke to me at Kings Cross in 1993 about the love of Jesus. Today, 27 years on, Art is still a part of my life being what we call a spiritual father. If there was an example of gratefulness, I would always point to this man for how God is using his life; I have so much love for this man.

Thirdly, to Bryan and Vivian Villalobos, who became my spiritual parents from the recovery home to the church. Bryan and Vivian were the first pastors who really impacted my life by allowing me to be part of their family and their children. That is where God started to change my understanding of being a father because it was their children that God used. I thank God for this couple and their family who are still a part of my life and whom I visit every time Im in America. I could go on; however, Ill stop at these three as I know there are many who know what part they played in my recovery.

Tommy Jituboh

Rock bottom

The13thof July 1993 was another day I woke up hoping that I wouldnt, knowing that my body would be crying for heroin. I was a drug addict, and had been for the last fifteen years, with every day being the same. I was so tired, and I knew that I was going to be sick in my body. As I looked around my flat, there were about fifteen people, male and female, sleeping all over the place and even in my bed. They too were drug addicts, dependent on heroin and cocaine just like myself. Today was going to be so different from yesterday as I had decided to kill myself, as I was sick and tired of the way I was living and I couldnt see any other way out of this misery.

My name is Tommy Jituboh, and I was born in 1949, the second eldest of nine siblings, five girls and four boys born to Albert and Doreen Jituboh. My father was from Lagos, Nigeria in West Africa and my mother was English from Chelsea. We settled in the East End of London. At seven years old, we moved from Brick Lane to a block called Montefiore Buildings on Cannon Street Road, E1. It had eight apartments on either side and, on the top floor, lived the landlord who collected the rent from the tenants; we called him Mr Montefiore. Mr Montefiore had racing pigeons in the loft which I was fascinated by and I used to go to his home as I couldnt understand why the pigeons returned after being released. Before long, I realised that the pigeons returned to the loft because they got used to that environment, and it was safe so they regarded it as their home. Shortly after, we eventually settled in a council flat on the Berner estate in Welstead House, Cannon Street Road, E1. The estate was inhabited by many large families, mainly white English with a mixture of Asians, Irish, Africans and West Indians. Everyone knew each other and got on OK. We left our front doors unlocked, and if no one was home, you were welcomed into any of your neighbours flats to wait.

My parents must have had a lot of love for each other to stay together and raise a large family, despite the intense racism of the times. There were many happy times being part of a large family as we had each other for company, to share love, laughter and conversation. When it came to discipline within the household, physical punishment was used, which was common within families during that period. Anything from hairbrushes, pieces of wood, or a leather belt were used by my father on me frequently, especially when I tried to intervene to stop him attacking my mother. My older brother Robbie would always put his arm around me to comfort me, saying, Dont worry, Tommy, itll be alright. Dad will stop it soon. Robbies words always gave me hope and faith that what I was experiencing was just a passing phase and we would soon be a happy family once again.

I was eight years old and weeks would go by where the household was tranquil, although there was always the anticipation at the back of my mind that this was just the calm before the storm. I could sense my dads moods early in the day, and the rapport he had with my mother before leaving for the gambling house. I would lie in bed awake in the early hours of the morning, before hearing my dads footsteps slowly walking along the landing and wincing at the sound of the key going into the lock to open the front door. Dad would call my mother in an angry tone of voice, having lost all is money once again. My instincts were right as my father erupted, knocking my mum about before beating me with anything he could get his hands on. Despite me knowing the consequences of my actions for trying to stop an assault on my mother, it would never stop me from trying. Despite my interventions, I would never disrespect my dad as I was afraid of him.